Dewey glanced between the two of them, and his face reddened. “If you’re here for a three-way… uh… well, I’m not into dudes.”
Nancy rolled her eyes. “We discussed this, Dewey. We don’t have that kind of relationship anymore.”
“Right,” Dewey said. “It’s just sometimes I can’t tell when people are kidding.”
“We came for your help,” Nancy said.
Dewey nodded in relief. “Gotcha. What can I do for you? Oh, it’s not the stimulator in your dad’s head, is it?”
“No,” Nancy said.
“Because Elliot was right. I didn’t really understand how it worked.”
“It’s not that—”
“I kinda get ahead of myself,” Dewey continued. “I’m not good with predicting the consequences—”
“Dewey,” Nancy barked out. “Would you shut up?”
“Sorry,” Dewey said. “I just… what do you need?”
Nancy handed Dewey the cell phone. “We need to route a VOIP call to the number preprogrammed on this phone.”
“Why don’t you just call it?”
Eric had listened to their conversation with a growing sense of frustration. For some reason, the genius man-child rubbed him the wrong way. “We don’t know who owns that number. We don’t know who might be monitoring it. We don’t know what happens when we call it.”
“Geez,” Dewey mumbled. “Everyone’s a grouch nowadays. Did you ask Karen for help?”
“Karen could help if we wanted it logged within the OTM,” Eric said. “You, however, are discreet. That was your arrangement with Smith, wasn’t it? I’ll be reviewing that arrangement, now that I’m the director.”
Dewey licked his lips. “Uh, yeah. You want it off-book. I’m your man, Director. Nobody can keep a secret like me, you betcha. Just give me a minute.”
Eric waited patiently while Dewey dragged a flight case from the corner and rummaged around inside. He came out with a black plastic disc nearly two inches thick and placed it on the chair. A laptop followed next, and Dewey turned to them. “Is a conference call okay? Or do you need this, like, super-secret-squirrel private?”
“A conference call will be fine,” Nancy said. “I have nothing to hide from Eric. You, of course, will keep your mouth shut. Won’t you?”
Dewey nodded so quickly his hair flopped forward and stuck to his sweaty brow. “I won’t tell a soul. Scout’s honor!”
Eric gritted his teeth as Nancy shook her head. He leaned in close and whispered, “We’re going to have to have a talk about this guy.”
Nancy’s mouth quirked up in a smile, and she whispered, “He’s harmless.”
If half of what I’ve read about Dewey Green is correct, then I seriously doubt that.
He bit his tongue and Dewey logged in to the laptop and began banging away on the keyboard. “How many hops are necessary?” Dewey asked.
“Assume we have no idea how dangerous this is,” Eric said.
“Right.” Dewey typed furiously, then looked up at Nancy. “Are you ready?”
Nancy nodded. “Do it.”
Dewey tapped a button, and the microphone came to life, ringing twice before it was picked up.
There was silence on the phone.
Nancy’s hand jerked to her mouth. She stared at the phone as if she had never seen one before. “Hello?”
Silence.
“My name is Nancy Smith.”
“What happened in Washington?” a woman’s voice asked. The voice was bland, of indeterminate age, and lacking an accent.
“We were attacked,” Nancy said. “We escaped. Is this… are you… Alexandra?”
Chapter Fourteen
“I’m your daughter,” Nancy said shakily.
There was a long pause. “What happened to Melamid?”
“He’s dead,” Nancy said.
“How?”
“The Russians followed us,” Nancy said. “Did you know? Did you know they were still looking for you?”
“It’s dangerous for us to speak—”
“They killed Vasilii to get at you,” Nancy said, “but we can protect you. We can bring you back to the OTM.”
“Fulton claimed the same thing in his letter, and you nearly died because of his foolishness.”
Eric coughed. “Miss Batalova? My name is Eric Wise. We can keep you safe.”
Nancy frowned. “Eric is right. The Russians can’t reach you here.”
The silence lingered, and Eric wondered whether the call had ended. The woman finally spoke again. “Where is Fulton?”
“He’s sick,” Nancy said. “He stepped down months ago. Eric is the director now.”
“Eric Wise?”
“Do I know you?” Eric asked.
“No,” the woman said. “But I know of your father. And, your grandfather.”
“How—”
“I was Fulton’s secretary. I did my homework. Fulton recruited you into taking his place?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Run,” the woman said. Her voice was raw and full of heat. “Leave while you can. Don’t look back. Take my daughter with you. Quit trying to save the world.”
“I’m afraid that’s not an option, ma’am. Please. Your daughter needs you. No harm will come to you. I will keep you safe.”
Before the woman could answer, there was a pounding at Dewey’s office door. Eric glanced at the door, then turned to Dewey.
Dewey stared at the door in bewilderment.
“Are you expecting anyone?” Eric asked.
“Almost everyone I know is right here,” Dewey squeaked out.
“Perhaps you should answer it,” Eric hissed.
“Oh. Right.” He went to open the door while Nancy glared at him.
“Miss Batalova,” Eric said. “We can have a plane pick you up in hours. Just tell us where.”
There was another long pause. Nancy stared hopefully at the speaker, and finally the woman said, “Call me back in six hours. I’ll be ready with my location.”
There was a click, and the phone went dead. Nancy’s face was practically glowing, but then Dewey led Karen Kryzowski into the room.
Karen was harried and breathing heavy. “We have a problem.”
Analysts turned to stare as Eric stormed into the War Room. Nancy and Karen followed, and Clark jerked to attention and shouted, “Director on deck!”
The analysts waited for him to speak with weary faces. Most of them had been working for almost twenty-four hours without a break, and he knew that they were nearing their breaking point.
A grainy street cam video looped on the main wall screen. The DFA had released it minutes after the suicide bombing in England, and Eric watched as the OTM members dropped from the concussion.
“Thank you,” Eric said. He pointed at the wall screen. “I realize this footage is disturbing, but we will recover. Our teammates are on their way home. We need to focus on discovering the people responsible. Make it happen, people!”
The analysts nodded and turned back to their terminals. Clark snapped off a salute, and Eric asked, “Is Deion online?”
Clark nodded. “Their Gulfstream is over the Atlantic.”
“What about Frist?”
Clark hesitated. “He’s on the C-17.”
“Thank you, Sergeant. I’d like you with me on this.”
“Me, sir?”
Eric smiled. “I trust your judgment.”
Clark offered a rare smile. “Thank you, sir.”
Eric followed Clark to the conference room. Nancy and Karen joined them, and Clark brought up the conference call on the wall screen.
Deion was glaring into the camera, and Valerie sat close to him, her face mottled as if she had been arguing. Taylor Martin leaned forward and checked on Bill. His old friend’s face was pale, and he had an IV in his arm, but the short man was sitting up by himself.